


Like gold-filled cracks on porcelain skin

by LittleLinor



Series: Ren's To Blame [3]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Consensual Kink, Impact Play, M/M, Nonsexual, Ren really is to blame this time, hints of unhealthy coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ren offered his services to Ibuki, he didn't expect him to actually <i>agree</i>.<br/>But now that he has him at his mercy, he intends to make the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like gold-filled cracks on porcelain skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aichi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/gifts).



> "What if I wrote Ren stepping on someone," I said.  
> Unfortunately, I'm terrible at writing Aichi subbing, but I hope this will be enjoyable anyway <3
> 
> Set before [But Your Fangs Were Already In](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7266073), and hints at the plot leading to it if you squint.

Ren Suzugamori likes to think he is a fairly flexible person.  
Incredibly flexible, in fact, when it comes to plans or rules—having his life set-out or restricted makes him anxious in the way others find bugs crawling on their skin, a creeping feeling that makes want to bolt.  
Responsibility he can handle, to a point; caring for those he loves is always grounding like a nice, fragrant cup of tea, and if it means saving the world in the process, well, the world would just have to deal with being saved. It's only fair for him having to deal with the hassle.  
So aside from the immediate responsibilities that have to be handled, Ren doesn't usually have very precise plans for the future. But nowhere in his—extensive—imagination would he have anticipated the current scenario.  
Kouji Ibuki in front of him, tense and reluctant but willing, surrendering himself to his care with eyes that he knows mean he won't go down unless he's broken.  
It's almost every single of his guilty pleasures packed in a neat little white-haired, defiant package, and really, it would be insulting both to fate and to Ibuki not to indulge.  
And he did always love a challenge. And struggling, but the two overlap surprisingly often.  
“I didn't think you'd take my invitation,” he hums, leisurely stepping towards Ibuki's rigid standing body, the soles of his feet curling off the ground in anticipated pleasure with every step.   
He didn't think Ibuki could tense more. He was wrong.  
“… your reasoning was logically sound.”  
Ren smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind Ibuki's ear.  
“High praise coming from you, Mister Mastermind.” Ibuki flinches, and his smile widens. “What, are you not enjoying that title? Is it weighting on you?” Closer to him now, leaning on his shoulder with his chin and woven fingers. “I wonder why.”  
He looks away and Ren tilts his face to the side, resting his cheek on his own hands to look at him.  
“Aww, don't give me that face, Ibukki.”  
“Do you really need to use this ridiculous nickname?” he grits out, attempting—and failing, in Ren's humble opinion—to sound blasé instead of tense.  
“Why, would you rather I call you Kouji?”  
His jaw tenses.  
“… no.”  
“Are you sure? It's a cute name, I like it.”  
A sigh already barely shaky with defeat. Oh, this is going to be a _treat_.  
“Yes I'm sure.”  
“Great!” he says, finally releasing Ibuki's shoulder to clap his hands once. “Ibukki it is, then!”  
He doesn't miss the sigh of relief and resignation breaking out from Ibuki's chest.  
“And by the way,” he adds, spinning on the front of his foot to face him. “Call me Ren.”

The “bedroom” can only be called one because he does have a bed in it, although “bed” might be a generous term. But what it lacks in general comfort it makes up for in solid restraints, so Ren likes it. It's not like he _sleeps_ there, after all, he has plenty of other rooms on his floor of the building, and the one where he does sleep has much comfier sheets, not to mention a blaster dark plushie.  
He doesn't invite people in it quite often enough to really justify keeping the place and all its equipment, but there's no harm in it if he can afford it, and besides, he likes to be well prepared.  
“Make yourself at home~” he says as he strolls in, not waiting for Ibuki to follow since he knows full well he will. “There's a chair over there if you want to make yourself more comfortable. You might want to take off anything you don't want to risk having damaged, you know?”  
“How considerate.”  
“Right? I take good care of my toys after all.”  
He turns to look at him, and feels a twist of satisfaction in his gut as Ibuki looks away.  
“I'll go put something a little more appropriate too,” he says, as if nothing had happened. Wait for me.”

In truth, he doesn't change that much. His current outfit is quite classy enough, after all, but he likes feeling a little dressed up for these kinds of things.  
Had it been Kai, he would have taken out the coat. But the full effect of _that_ would be lost on Ibuki, so he just ties up his hair, changes into his boots (a good occasion to break them in, really), and pulls out his gloves.  
White and white. Details matter.  
Ibuki is wearing only his shirt and trousers when he goes back into the other room, the rest of his things carefully folded, the armour on top. He's standing, too, which makes Ren smile.  
Soon.  
Honestly the way he clings to not being eager or vulnerable is adorable.  
He turns when Ren closes the door, brows furrowing.  
“I thought you were changing.”  
“But I did!” He moves closer, and regrets for a moment not putting him in—say, his old school uniform. The tie would have been nice to pull him close right now, and he doubts Ibuki will let him collar him. “I don't _need_ a leather outfit for this, Ibukki. Or are you disappointed?”  
“… no.”  
“Good boy.” He moves to his closet, takes out a couple of ropes, a thin cane (“just in case”), and closes it before tossing them on the bed. “Well, come on!”  
At first Ibuki just stares at him, hesitation in the forward set of his shoulders, in the nervous curve of his hands. Ren waits. _Patiently._  
After a few seconds, Ibuki winces, sighs, and moves forward to meet him.  
“There you go,” Ren woos. “See, wasn't that hard. Now,” he adds, tilting Ibuki's chin up with one finger, “sure you don't have any regrets about those rules of yours? No last minute omissions?”  
“I'm fine.”  
Ren smiles and brushes fingertips up his chest, his own weight forward and almost pressed to him.  
“If you say so~”  
And with a sudden push to his upper chest, he sends him sprawling on the floor.

At any other time, Ren knows he couldn't have gotten away with it. Whatever has happened to Ibuki in the years between his friendship with Kai and Miwa and his oh-so-charming introduction to Ren, it has involved some rather thorough training in things you wouldn't have expected from the nerdy wallflower Kai had described, martial arts most of all. He has no doubt that Ibuki knows how to fall, knows how to be on his feet in less than a second, that Ibuki, had he been on guard or even bracing for a hit, would have caught himself without falling, or even thrown Ren himself.  
But Ibuki also doesn't have years of experience at destroying his opponents psychologically, and he's in such a state of mental and emotional disarray that all it took was a little distraction.  
And now he's barely catching himself with spread arms to stop his head from hitting the floor too hard, and looking up as the air gets knocked out of him with a flash of what actually looks like _fear_.  
It's the best look Ren has actually seen on him.  
He coughs, draws in a wheezing breath, and starts rolling on reflex, but before he can move, Ren presses down on his foot with one of his own.  
“Don't.”  
And again, that scared look, a sudden jerk of his chin as he looks back at Ren from wherever his panicked mind had brought him, and that alone would have been enough for Ren to want to break him.  
But he doesn't move. Obedient even now, his compulsive need to _do things right_ nailing him in place as effectively as a sword could. So Ren hums, takes his time, and releases his foot to leisurely walk closer to his head.  
“You see, Ibukki,” he explains in his brightest, most singing voice, “I still haven't paid you back for that time you stabbed me.” Ibuki breathes in shakily and he smiles. “I know, I know. All's fair in love and war. But I like to think that was a _little_ too much. See, I like to consent to that kind of thing.”  
He's not answering, just looking up at Ren silently, but his usually tight lips are just barely opened, a first crack in his facade, a tag on his wrapping that Ren just has to _pull_ to flay him.  
He crouches next to him.  
“And I'm a nice guy. _Normally_ I wouldn't hold that against you, especially here. But since you're soooo eager to be punished…” He straightens, then, already shifting his balance to one leg, “I'm going to have a little _fun_.”  
And with no further warning, his foot is on Ibuki's chest, pressing down.  
Ibuki gasps. Fair enough, it's not as strong a reaction as some of the other people Ren's been with, but it's a start, from someone like him. So he starts pressing, slowly, the pressure steadily increasing as Ren leans on his knee, face propped up on his hand and elbow.  
“Hey Ibukki~ do you like the boots? I stole the style from a friend of mine. White and heels was _such_ a good idea.” Ibuki swallows. He grins, pressing down harder with his heel, against his lower ribs. “It gets dirty fast, but on the other hand~ blood looks so good on white. Want to try it out?”  
Ibuki doesn't answer. Ren gives him ten seconds, keeping his eyes right on his and the pressure on his chest steady.  
“Ibu~kki,” he finally says, calm and even, when Ibuki still stays silent. “If you don't answer when you're asked a question, I'm going to punish you for it and break them out of you. And then,” he adds with a smile, “if _that_ takes too much effort, I'll start asking questions you really don't want to answer. Did you get that?”  
A shudder and Ibuki nods. Ren raises an eyebrow at him.  
“—yes,” he finally answers, hurriedly enough to make the corners of Ren's mouth burn with yet another smile's pull.  
“Good,” he whispers, and the burn is spreading to his entire body now, to his eyebrows, heavy over his eyes, to his spine, first at his neck and then down, to his hips, his shoulders, to his hands in their white gloves.  
Maybe he's enjoying this a little too much. Maybe for all he does care about Ibuki enough to cooperate with him and would probably come to his aid if he was in danger there's something about getting to pay him back that sinks into his flesh and bones a little too easily, draws every instinct in him like a bow.  
And everyone knows a drawn bow should never be released without an arrow.  
“So. Let me repeat my question. Do you want to try it out?”  
“I—” A shaky breath, not fully taken back as Ren presses a little harder. “How are you planning to do that? I haven't seen a blade.”  
“I could take one out,” Ren points out (quite literally, his free hand resting on his own cheek, index out). “Unfortunately, I'm not much of a whip kind of guy. I hear they're fun, though.”  
Ibuki shudders. _Cute_.  
“You know what I _actually_ want, though? I want to see blood...” he says, bending forward to reach for Ibuki's mouth with his fingertips, “on those pretty frowny lips.”  
He drags a nail along them, and feels Ibuki's chest tense under his foot. He allows himself to break eye contact to check up on him. His hands have tightened into fists, his own nails no doubt biting into his palms by now, and the tension of it is spreading through his arms all the way to his shoulders, to the muscles of his chest.  
Lazy and teasing, he lets his eyes slowly fall back to Ibuki's face, fond, knowing smile on his lips.  
“Already, Ibukki? Wait for the fun to start, at least. What are you going to cling to _then_ if you use up your options now?”  
“I'll cross that bridge when I get to it,” Ibuki grits out.  
“Mmm~ I see you haven't forgotten your orders,” he murmurs tenderly. “See, you can be so good at obeying. It really does fit you.” A smile, and his fingers move from Ibuki's lips to hook under his chin, nails first. “Does it get to you, Ibukki?” he whispers. “That you want it so much? That it comes so _naturally_ if I so much as push a little.”  
Ibuki's breath shakes, and Ren's pretty sure it's not from the nails biting into him, or even the weight on his chest (although to be fair, that part probably helps).  
“I—”   
He closes his eyes, winces, twists his shoulders to press them harder against the ground.  
“Ah, sorry,” Ren says, tilting his chin up. “I got carried away. I said I'd keep the hard questions for when you're not being good, after all. But you're going to be good, right? _Look at me_ ,” he adds, his sharp voice a lashing contrast to his sweetness just a second before, and Ibuki's eyes open wide, pupils dark and thick and just a hint of desperate. “Are you going to be good?”  
The shaking in Ibuki's breath almost sounds like a sob.  
“Yes.”  
“There we go.”  
He straightens just enough to release his elbow from his knee and drives his heel into Ibuki's upper stomach.

Ibuki's shoulders jerk. He lets out a choked gasp and his knees pull up, all limbs curling forward in an attempt to cave away from the pressure. Ren just smiles and puts more of his weight into it, twisting.  
Not enough to break a rib, but hard enough to bruise. And now he wishes he'd stripped Ibuki of his shirt before starting. Bruises are fascinating when they form, although taking it off at the end to reveal the big picture would be fun too.  
But he can still do it, if he wants. After all, the only limit he's been set in that regard is underwear.  
Maybe before the ropes.  
He lifts his weight off his foot, gives Ibuki just enough time to draw in a couple of hurried, pained breaths, and digs his foot into the other side.  
This time there's voice in his drawn breath, something deep and raspy. A treat, really, visceral and broken enough to be tastier even than a scream. And to think he's giving those because he's trying to hard to _hide_.  
He'd almost reward him for it, but that would mean betraying how much he's enjoying those little noises, and then Ibuki might try to hide _them_. No, if he tells him at all, it'll be when he's helpless enough and broken enough that all the revelation can do will be drive him to tears.  
He leans on his knee again.  
“You all right there Ibukki?”  
“Y-yes,” Ibuki grits out, forcing his eyes back on Ren.  
So obedient.  
“Good boy.”  
He lifts the pressure on Ibuki's chest and lets him breathe, patiently watching him as he draws in one shuddering breath, then another, closing his eyes for a fraction of second as he swallows.  
“How does it feel?” Ren continues, moving his foot lower over Ibuki's stomach, under the edge of his ribcage where his body goes soft, gives with little pressure under Ren's foot. “Being stabbed was a lot worse than this, you know? Well, just once I'm _used_ to, our dear friend Aichi is fond of paladins with big swords, after all, but run through again and again like that?” He presses down, slowly enough to avoid risking injury but hard enough to scare him further, make his breath shorter from pure physical reflex. “That was an interesting experience. I'd never really had the like.”  
Ibuki's mouth is open, still, and his hair—his hair's sprawled out and twisted with the pained movements of his head, baring more of his neck and face.   
He really is beautiful. Delicate and cold like carefully sculpted limestone, and yet! No matter how many times he's been broken, the outside remains uncracked. A work of art, really, all in soft, precisely crafted lines and eye-catching contrast of white and red.  
He wants to fill in that palette with black and dark, heavy blue.   
“Tell me, Ibukki,” he asks, pulling his foot away and walking closer to his head. “What did it feel like on the other end of those limbs?”  
Something closes in Ibuki's eyes before his actual eyelids do, and he knows he's made a mistake.  
“I don't want to talk about it,” Ibuki says, voice worryingly even but too quiet, and Ren crouches next to him, rests a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
“Sorry. I won't push.”  
His voice is quiet and even enough that Ibuki takes a breath, releases it slowly. Nods.  
He squeezes his shoulder gently, rubs a thumb over the shape of his collarbone.  
“Should I stop?”  
Ibuki shakes his head. His eyes are still closed, but his voice is stable when he answers.  
“No. Keep going.”  
It makes Ren smile, a sliver of fondness making its way into him.   
He always did have a soft spot for that type.  
“Brave,” he whispers, caressing Ibuki's cheek with a finger. “Wait just a minute, then.”

He stands up and steps over him to reach the bed, picking up first a coil of rope that he drapes over his shoulders and the back of his neck, then the cane. Testing it against his hand reveals no fault he could have missed earlier, and neither does a mid-air swing. Good.  
He walks back towards Ibuki, and is relieved to find his eyes open. Looks like he's composed himself during his time alone.  
“Ibukki~” he sings as he leans over him, “how do you feel about something a little more...” a small flick of the cane to his upper arm, just enough for a slight bite, “stingy?”  
Ibuki jerks a little at the hit, but keeps himself silent.  
“… whatever you want.”  
Ren chuckles.  
“That's a dangerous thing to say to someone like me, you know,” he murmurs, bending closer to his face and tilting it up with the tip of the cane.  
“… I'm aware.”  
He giggles.  
“Brave? Or foolhardy? Let's find out.” He straightens. “Unbutton your shirt.”  
Ibuki blinks.  
“Well? Go on. I'm not going to say it twice.” A little nudge of his foot to Ibuki's arm. “I didn't get to watch you undress earlier. So I'm going to have fun now.”  
Ibuki looks away, then finally reaches towards his own neck to unbutton the strap keeping his collar closed.  
He's so good at this and Ren honestly wants to keep him.   
He stays standing as Ibuki pulls the strap to the side. A chair would have been more comfortable, and he regrets not getting one now, but doing it now would be a waste of time, and the bed is too far away to sit on for good effect. So he stands, and drums his fingers over the length of the cane, absently, his eyes on Ibuki's face.  
And what a show it is. Forcing him to bare himself rather than just taking it from him had been the right choice; there's something in Ibuki that fights every movement, plain in the tense, slightly twisted lines of his face, that he knows wouldn't have been there if Ren had forced him physically.  
The guy has a little too much experience with being controlled, after all. He wouldn't put it past him to compartmentalise himself out of it, and that would be both less fun and more worrying for his emotional health.  
No, this is better; watching him fight himself to take away his own protection, his own carefully crafted image. It's delightful and delicious and about as addictive as cotton candy.  
One by one, the buttons come open, the fabric falling back around a bared trail of too-pale skin. He resists the urge to touch, instead keeping a smile on his lips and his eyes on Ibuki's avoidant face. There's a faint blush on his cheeks now, and it's spreading even to his neck—a promising detail. He's always wondered what made Ibuki grow his hair; the gleeful feeling of power that motivated his own growth doesn't seem to fit him. Now, between the hair, the collar and the blush, he's starting to think that feeling air or eyes on his neck gets to him more than he likes to think or show.  
Something to test later.  
He hesitates when his hands undo the last button, so Ren smiles at him and pushes the fabric aside with the tip of his cane.  
“Hands off.”  
His hands awkwardly move to his sides.  
He's enticingly tense, and his jaw tight. Ren makes it worse, bending to trail the cane along his skin before pushing the opened shirt away from his chest.  
The bruises are already forming. Perfect.  
“You mark really easily, you know that? Not that it's surprising, with skin like yours.” Ah, there, the blush deepening. He knew he could get it out. “Let's play around with it a bit, shall we?” He falls to a crouch next to him. “Sit up.”  
Ibuki does, eyeing him with an edge of distrust before he winces. Feeling the bruises already.  
“Arms behind your back. Crossed—unless you want them _up_ your back?”  
Ibuki shudders.  
“I'll take the first choice.”  
“Aw. No fun.”  
But Ibuki's arms are already behind his back—maybe so they can be bound before Ren thinks to change his mind—and he can't not reward the eagerness. So he puts one knee down to rest his weight better and puts the cane down, reaching for the rope on his shoulders and shaking it to unfold it. The ends fall over Ibuki's legs like a lazy imitation of a whip, and he decides to use the folded middle to tease at his neck a little, pushing his hair away.  
Ibuki shudders.  
 _Bullseye_.  
“Ah, don't mind me~ I just need to push your hair aside. It could get caught in the rope otherwise!”  
Ibuki snorts, but he does tilt his head a little, away from the coil of rope teasing him. So Ren catches the strands still on his neck and pulls them back and around, brushing fingers along his skin as he does before sensually letting the hair fall over his shoulder. By the time he pulls back, Ibuki's breath is short, and his skin textured with goosebumps.  
“There! Isn't that better?” he murmurs, tucking a few stray hairs behind his ear.   
Ibuki doesn't answer, but neither does he pull away from the touch of Ren's fingers on the side of his scalp. Ren decides he can get a free pass for this one.  
So what he does instead of pushing for a reply is wrap the first double coil of rope around Ibuki's elbow and wrist on the left, a few turns just tight enough before he threads the longer ends of his rope through the small loop (letting them brush over Ibuki's leg as he pulls them, because no detail is wasted when trying to pick apart someone with Ibuki's level of self-control) and starts working on the rest of his arms.  
And to his surprise, Ibuki does relax. As both sides of his arms get locked in place, something in him snaps, unwinds, his already-pulled shoulders falling slightly as his spine slumps into Ren's hold. Ren has to resist the temptation to kiss the back of his neck, and instead catches his shoulder with his as he finishes binding his arms.  
He pushes Ibuki's head forward when he's done, somewhat more gently than he could have, and smiles in satisfaction when Ibuki lets himself bend forward limply without resisting.  
That he'd react so well to being restrained is _adorable_ , and it makes him feel fond and somewhat protective again.  
So he actually gives him a gentle tap of warning before swinging the cane at his arm.

Ibuki gasps and bites his lip. Rather than hit him again straight away, Ren pushes his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, to the elbows, before brushing the cane up his bared arm, from the already forming red line to his shoulder, a teasing caress.  
“See? I was right.”  
He pulls the cane back and whips it at his arm again, just a hand's width under the previous mark. They're almost parallel. A job well done.  
This time, Ibuki has only flinched away slightly, so he gives him a few seconds and light, reassuring taps of his cane before hitting him again, a third line underdeath.  
Ibuki's mouth finally opens, a light, raspy noise escaping him. And then, as a fourth hit lands, he cries out, a small choked thing that he swallows by drawing in a sharp breath.  
“Let go,” Ren whispers, switching his cane to his other hand to trace fingers up his already bruising skin.  
“I… I can't— _aah!_ ” he cries out as Ren grips his hair and pulls his head back.  
“Let. Go.”  
And it's a whimper this time, desperate and laced with a sob, and it's all Ren needs to pet his head and then force him down by his grip on his hair, first to his side, then to his stomach.  
He doesn't fight back. There's something small and weak in the way he lays there, not even attempting to shift his position to lie down more comfortably. The little uncomfortable curve of his waist from the way he was pushed down is still there, and his shoulders are still pulled back, even when shifting them would have been less straining now.  
Ren hums and pushes his head down and to the side again, making him lie on his cheek.  
“Ibukki~… you're looking good like this, you know? Almost worth not playing with your chest as much as I wanted.”  
His eyes are open, but he's still silent, panting quietly under Ren's hand. And even when Ren slowly tightens his hold, his eyes remain in front of him, slightly angled to the ground.  
Finally starting to break.  
“Isn't it nice, being on the ground like this? How does it make you _feel_ , Ibukki? To have your face...” he all but murmurs, throat vibrating with excitement as he pushes on Ibuki's scalp again, forcing his chin down and his cheek to drag against the floor, “pressed against the floor like this? Should I step on you again?”  
Ibuki draws in a shaky breath, eyes closing, and Ren yanks him up by the hair again, bringing Ibuki's ear to his face rather than bend even further.  
“Answer me.”  
“I—I don't—” He shudders. “Yes...”  
“See?” Ren tells him as he gently presses him back down. “Things are so much easier when you ask nicely.”  
And he stands.

The view, now that he's no longer kneeling at his level, is rather breathtaking. It's in the way Ibuki lets his cheek press against the ground almost like he's nuzzling it, rather than pulling away from it, the curve of his fingers, almost abandoned (or surrendered), the leg that he's folded slightly to the side to keep himself stable (reflexes, even now, like he's bracing to be hurt—and how Ren hopes he is), the way his entire chest and shoulders move with every breath. The marks starting to bloom on his arm.  
The shirt caught messily on his arms doesn't hurt, either. There was something about Ibuki's neatness that just needed to be desecrated.  
Honestly, since he's not cutting him and that rules blood out, all he's missing now is some tears.  
 _Well, not too late for that._  
Carefully balancing his weight to avoid putting too much of it on the wrong foot, he brushes his foot from Ibuki's waist, over his arms, his back, and rests the heel where the back of his neck meets his shoulders, and the flat of his foot over his cheek, ear and hair.  
Ibuki jerks, not the deliberate movement of someone trying to struggle their way out, but a visceral, reflexive jolt of panic at having his head threatened. Ren smiles and presses, nudging a little with his toes.  
“So how's this for a start? Ah, don't worry about answering that one, you can't right now, can you?”  
A small sob runs through Ibuki's body. Ren has to stop himself from pressing harder.  
“… I guess that's also a good answer. Why don't you cry for me a little, Ibukki? As thank you for being so nice to you, hmm?”  
Ibuki's face shifts slightly. Trying to hide it against the ground. How cute?  
“No? Aw~.” He bends closer, adds a bit of weight to his heel. “What if I take it from you though?”  
He switches the cane from one hand to the other, reaching down towards Ibuki's unmarked arm. Ibuki shudders, and he trails the tip along his arm… up, down, curling over the shoulder, tracing the shape of his too wiry muscles. A small flick and Ibuki jerks slightly, but it was just a teasing little sting. Another, very light, on his fingers, and it's a ragged breath he draws, his face pressing harder into the ground of its own accord under Ren's foot. And then he hits, hard, just above the elbow, and Ibuki cries out. Quiet, but not restrained this time, something like a sob that drags out, his voice raw. It's soft and sweet and roughed, the best thing he's ever heard from Ibuki's voice.  
He hits again, lets the cane bite into the flesh of Ibuki's shoulder muscles.  
He cries out for real, this time, body jerking under Ren's foot, and Ren keeps up the pressure to hit him again, just underneath, dragging a real sob out of his throat.  
“See?” he sings. “I knew you had it in you. Doesn't it feel good to let go?” Another hit, and Ibuki's sobbing cry drags, hashed at the end by his stammering breath. “You sound so good like this, you know? You're always _hiding_ your voice. Gotta keep it even, gotta sound _cool_. Doesn't it feel good to let out the truth?” He hits again, gets a choked whimper that suddenly hitches in volume. “But it sounds great when you're trying to hold it back too. You made _such_ nice noises earlier. Like you'd locked down your voice but your breath still _broke_. All nice and raspy.” And he steps away from Ibuki's head to crouch next to him, grabbing his hair again, and _yes_ , those are tears breaking from Ibuki's eyes. _Finally_. “Are you going to let me hear them again? Are you going to come back to me again, Ibukki?” A twist. “Answer me.”  
“Y—I don't know—yes,” he all but sobs out, voice scorched and torn with air.  
“Good~” Ren hums, releasing his hair to instead rub fingers into Ibuki's back tenderly, right where his heel used to be. “It's nice to admit when you want something, isn't it?” He bends down close to his ear. “You should admit to more things, Ibukki. All this holding back isn't going to do you good.” And he pulls back, using his hand as leverage to sit down next to Ibuki's shoulder, cross-legged. “But~ in the meantime, you can come to me. I'll help you get it all out.”  
“… why?” comes Ibuki's choked voice.  
“Believe it or not! I've actually taken a liking to you. You're surprisingly cute.” A harder rub, with his palm this time, a massage that would have been comfortable if he hadn't already been nursing a hint of a bruise. “And besides, I'm a nice guy. I wouldn't leave a friend feeling miserable, you know?”  
He doesn't answer, but a slow breath comes out of his mouth and lungs, his chest deflating under Ren's hand as he turns his head to hide his face against the floor. Ren just continues petting him, working some of the tension out of his shoulders.  
“I was going to have a little more fun”, he informs Ibuki, “but if you're going to come back maybe I'll stop here. I'll spare you this part,” he adds with a slight tap of his cane to Ibuki's ass, “for next time. Something for you to look forward to, hmmm?”  
Just a little shiver under his fingers. But as he keeps petting and massaging, Ibuki's body finally relaxes, deflates. Like a wound-up toy finally coming to rest. He smiles and combs his fingers up Ibuki's neck and through his hair, scritching at his scalp lightly.  
“So?” he asks quietly. “How are you feeling?”  
“… I'm fine,” comes the weary response.  
“Did it scratch your itch a little?”  
There's a pause, hesitant, before Ibuki finally turns his head to look at him. His face is flushed and there are tiny scratches on his cheeks, and so much weariness in his heavy, tear-glazed eyes. But in that moment, he doesn't try to hide, and it makes everything that came before worth it.  
He nods.

Ren smiles and goes back to petting him.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Ren sure is an Experience.


End file.
